32 Calay

Returning from the somber at-sea funeral for King Korastine, Anjine stood beside her brother at the stern of the escort ship. Black smoke from the pyre vessel rose high into the cloudless sky as it continued to burn, drifting far away.

“If he's with my mother now, do you think he's happy?” Tomas asked, sniffling. “I'm not happy that he's gone.” Though he struggled to fulfill his role as the prince of Tierra, he looked incredibly young.

Anjine wondered if her little brother remembered Ilrida's funeral, a similar pyre barge set adrift out on the Oceansea. “Death is not a happy thing, but it happens, even though we almost never expect it.” She forced a wan smile. “At least our father lived long enough to see the launch of the Dyscovera.”

Tomas brightened, making a visible effort. “If the ship reaches Terravitae, do you think Captain Vora will find Father there waiting?”

Though Anjine didn't believe it, she wouldn't dash her brother's hope. “There's no telling what the Dyscovera might find, or what miracles Holy Joron could perform.”

Up at the bow, in his finest military uniform, Mateo stood proudly with the heads of the city guard and the royal guard, along with a solemn contingent of soldiers, all of whom had come to see the dead king on his final voyage. Mateo's hair blew in the salty breeze, and his face was pale.

He had loved King Korastine greatly, and Anjine knew that to a certain degree, Mateo felt the loss as keenly as she did. He was like a brother to her, a son to Korastine, but he was also well trained as a soldier, and he performed his duty to perfection now. Anjine looked longingly at her friend, standing so far away, but since the loss of the king he had increased his distance from her, treating her more formally. Perhaps that was for the best. She had to turn her attention to the kingdom's other leaders and advisers.

All of the destrars attended the funeral aboard the escort vessel: Broeck from Iboria, Tavishel from Soeland, Shenro from Alamont, Siescu from Corag, and Unsul from Erietta; even Sazar, the leader of the rivermen—who considered himself a destrar, in duties if not in title—had come. Now that she considered Unsul more closely, she saw that the destrar was indeed the man her father had described—quiet and intelligent, with weak eyesight and a gracious personality. No wonder Korastine had suggested the man's son as a worthy marriage prospect.

Of all the destrars, Broeck was as close to a friend as Anjine had. Tomas's grandfather said to her, “You are queen now, Anjine. While we're here in Calay, you should call a council of the destrars to discuss the matters that lie before us. Siescu and I must finalize our plans for crossing the mountains to invade the Gremurr mines, and we may need laborers from the Alamont labor camps to build the road.”

Anjine's voice was hard. “The destrars will cooperate. Not a one of them has any love for the Urecari.”

“Yes, my Queen.” Broeck nodded his shaggy head and stepped back respectfully to give her and the boy a moment of privacy.

My Queen. The words suddenly struck Anjine, and she had to grip the rail and close her eyes to stop herself from sobbing out loud. Responsibility and fear welled up inside her. Queen.

For the past several years, she had served as Tierra's ruler in many capacities, writing proclamations that her father then signed. Throughout her life, Korastine had taught her how to wear the crown, but now that he was gone, she felt the gulf of knowledge she did not possess. It had never been so apparent to her before, and there were so many questions she'd never thought to ask.

As the deck swayed in a gentle swell, she reached out, wrapped her arm around Tomas, and squeezed him tightly. Her brother trembled, grappling with his emotions; he tried to be brave, tried not to show his grief—but failed.

The ship passed the comforting guardians of the two lighthouses at the harbor mouth, and Anjine looked back out to sea. Most of the smoke had been borne away on the winds, as the blazing pyre ship dropped below the horizon.

Anjine thought of the nights she had left her father alone to read his books, to dream of what lay out there unexplored. Korastine must have been so lonely. How she wished that she'd spent more time with him talking about important things—political decisions, family connections, trade and taxes… even unimportant conversations about the weather, or which flowers to plant in the castle courtyard. Everything, anything.

Had her father lived another thirty years, she would still be wishing for more time with him. There would always be things they should have said to each other. But Anjine was queen now. She had to be strong.

Turning away, she walked to the prow to stand silently next to Mateo during the ship's entry into the harbor. He stayed close, saying nothing, but they shared a deep and silent grief. They didn't need to speak the words aloud. If so many others hadn't been there watching, she would have clasped Mateo's hand, just for the closeness. Instead, the two remained formal, a guard and a princess. No, a queen.

She looked toward Calay, her city, her kingdom. King Korastine's spirit may have found his way to Terravitae, but she still had a land to rule.

The city of Calay observed a period of mourning for seven days after the funeral, but Anjine could not allow herself such a personal luxury. Broeck had made a good suggestion, and she used the opportunity to call all five destrars for an important strategy meeting inside the castle.

Prester-Marshall Rudio joined them at the long pine table, along with newly promoted Comdar Rief and the subcomdars of the army and navy, as well as Sen Leo na-Hadra. Mateo, though, had departed immediately after the funeral, riding out to the military camps.

After the prester-marshall delivered his invocation for the meeting, Anjine spread out the mountain maps of Corag Reach, which showed the potential route down to the Middlesea shores. Though little had actually changed in the way she conducted a meeting, Anjine felt strange, too aware that this was her first session as the queen of Tierra, instead of just a surrogate for her father. It made a difference that her father was not at her side. Anjine would have to fill the void with her own advisers; she would have to make her own decisions.

She did not try to color her words or soften the pain of their recent setbacks. “We failed to capture Ishalem. That loss wounded us deeply, and we must learn from it. Our first and highest priority is to seize the Gremurr mines from the Urecari. The enemy believes the Corag mountains to be impassable. They aren't aware that we know the mines exist, even though they are in our territory.”

These men had all heard Broeck's plan to cross the mountains and attack Gremurr from the rear. His nephew Iaros sat beside him, his large mustache bristling. The young man held his silence with difficulty; he fidgeted, eyes bright, as he listened.

Pale and gaunt Destrar Siescu of Corag pounded a fist on the table. His translucent skin showed the faint purplish lines of blood vessels. “The mines must be ours.”

Destrar Shenro seemed particularly incensed. “And think of all those poor Aidenist slaves they keep in pens, like animals.”

The Corag destrar looked at the drawings of his mountains, nodding and mumbling to himself. Though it was a warm spring day, Siescu wrapped himself in furs, even inside the castle chamber. “My scout confirms the route, and I dispatched him with some of our mining engineers to assess the challenge. Given sufficient workers and equipment, we could hack out a path to get our army through the tightest places.”

“It will need to be a wide road for the beasts,” Broeck said.

“We will make it as wide as need be, but we'll require more slaves.” Siescu looked around meaningfully.

“I will contribute as many as you like,” Destrar Shenro said. “I recently lost four hundred of them, but I still have far more Curlies than I need.”

Contemplative, Destrar Unsul said, “It's not simply a question of having the slaves, but of feeding, clothing, and guarding them. We're sure to lose some during the labor in the mountains. We will need replacements.”

Destrar Tavishel stroked his square-cut beard; perspiration glistened from his shaved head. Unlike the Corag destrar, the leader of the windy island reach seemed overheated in the chamber. “My ships will increase their raids and bring as many captives as you need. If we venture far enough south, the followers of Urec are there for the taking.”

At the head of the table, Anjine remained stern and strong. “When we strike Gremurr, the Urecari cannot know we are coming. Our greatest challenge is a practical one—how to get a large army, with all of our weapons, mounts, and armor, over the mountain passes and carry out a massive attack, while maintaining complete secrecy?”

“Raga Var will lead you,” Siescu promised with a predatory smile.

“We can do it,” said Shenro, “provided we find a way to flush out the infiltrators in our military.”

Anjine answered with a smile that showed confidence, but no warmth. “We have a way,” she said, thinking of Mateo's plan. “We will find them and purge them from our army.”